


A List of Grievances

by kagayamama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends to Lovers, College Setting, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Grinding, Kenma is a Tease, M/M, Pining, Self-Denial, Sexual Tension, So much flirting, im talking HARDCORE pining, kuroo has self esteem issues, kuroo is fucking gone for the boy, lol, sleepover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagayamama/pseuds/kagayamama
Summary: Kenma crashes at Kuroo’s for a week. Kuroo keeps a mental list of what it’s like to live with Kenma.1) Kenma wearing his clothes.2) There is not a single surface in his room that is      not covered by hair ties or bobby pins.3) Hair, hair everywhere.4) Kenma does not wear pants to sleep. This is a code red, Kenma doesnotwear pants to sleep.5) Kenma eats chips in bed and refuses to brush off the crumbs. Kuroo wakes up with scratches on his legs.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 25
Kudos: 272





	1. Chapter 1

Kuroo wraps a towel around his waist before stepping out of the bathroom. His skin is still soft and damp from his shower, and the burst of cool air upon stepping out is refreshing if not a bit chilly. He leaves behind a trail of wet footprints as he makes his way to his bedroom. When he steps inside, there is a surprising but not unwelcome figure sprawled across his bed. 

“I didn't know we had plans today,” Kuroo says amusedly, looking through his wardrobe for a change of clothes. He's only been back for half a day and wasn’t expecting to see Kenma at least until tomorrow. 

“We didn’t,” Kenma responds with no further explanation as to what he’s doing here in Kuroo’s room, on Kuroo’s bed, wearing Kuroo’s shirt. 

They were both back home on break from university. It was the end of their spring semester, Kuroo’s finished his third year and Kenma his second year. It was weird not going to the same school anymore and hanging out almost every day. There were texts and the occasional phone call, but Kuroo always waits for this, when they’re back home in each other’s bedroom talking like nothing has changed between them, like the distance between them hadn’t made Kuroo more desperate, his touches lingering and his stares burning. 

He doesn’t know what Kenma thinks of it, but it’s easy to push away those thoughts when Kenma’s here in the flesh. 

Those thoughts are meant for restless nights back at university when he goes over every interaction he had with Kenma and agonizes how _obvious_ he is. Kenma must think he’s pathetic. 

Kuroo ignores the tug in his stomach when he realizes how little Kenma is wearing. “Are you wearing pants?” 

Kenma is laying on his stomach, PSP in hand. His pale legs are exposed, the shirt cutting off the view at mid-thigh. Kuroo tries to tear his eyes away, but fails. 

“My boxers are wet.” Kenma shifts so that his shirt is riding up his stomach, away from his wet boxers. 

Kuroo notices Kenma’s laying on top of a towel. It’s Kuroo’s towel, but there’s an unspoken agreement that it’s reserved for Kenma only. It hangs in his wardrobe, ready for Kenma to grab whenever he took a shower here after volleyball practice or when he sleeps over. It hasn’t been used in a long time, but Kuroo washes it every time he’s home on break from university anyway. 

How considerate of Kenma to keep his bed dry, Kuroo thinks wryly. What’s _not_ considerate is presenting himself like this to Kuroo, soft thighs rubbing back and forth against the towel like it’d help dry his boxers any faster. A man can only take so much. 

“You borrowed my shirt, why not my boxers too?” Kuroo asks jokingly, but joking or not, it does not prevent the intrusive thought of Kenma in _his_ boxers. 

“That's disgusting,” Kenma responds and for a second, Kuroo is scared he had spoken his desire aloud. 

“Why’d you come here in the rain? could’ve texted me and I would’ve come get you with an umbrella.” Kuroo manages to change into his clothes in record time, scared that Kenma will look up and just _know_ he’s half-hard. 

“My router is broken so I’m staying here until it gets fixed. And I did text you. You just didn’t respond.” Kenma clicks his tongue, but Kuroo can’t tell if it’s from annoyance towards the game or annoyance towards Kuroo for not responding to his text. 

Kuroo feels giddy, hopes that Kenma’s router stays broken so that he’s forced to sleep over for the entire duration of their two month break. He had planned to hang out with Kenma nearly every day of break, but these circumstances are more than ideal. He goes to grab his phone from his nightstand and surely enough, he had received a text from Kenma. 

7:23 p.m.

_i need an umbrella_

7:26 p.m. 

_kuro_

“Five minutes ago,” Kuroo sighs. He’d feel bad if Kenma were to get sick, and Kenma always got sick so easily. Even overexertion during volleyball matches had him with a high fever the next day. But that was years ago. Maybe Kenma changed. After all, Kuroo’s changed. 

“If you waited ten more minutes you wouldn’t be wet.” Kuroo puts one knee on his bed, leaning forward so that he can hold up a lock of Kenma’s rain-soaked hair between two fingers. The hand supporting his weight on the bed is next to Kenma’s waist, just the tiniest sliver of skin exposed from where his shirt was riding up. His hand aches to touch. 

“It’s fine,” Kenma huffs. He turns over on his back, looking up at Kuroo. His eyelashes are still wet with rain and his hair is plastered against his forehead. 

Kuroo tucks a lock of hair behind Kenma’s ear, finger brushing against his cheekbone, the shell of his ear, then down the side of his neck. Kenma’s eyes flicker to where Kuroo’s hand is slow to leave his skin. He looks back at Kuroo, lips parted, words unspoken. 

“Who’s gonna take care of you if you get sick, huh?” Kuroo drops onto the bed, effectively breaking the palpable tension that was present a moment ago. It’s one of those moments that he’s going to be turning over in his head over and over again. 

He props his head up with one arm, looking down at Kenma’s face, studying his features, waiting for some minute reaction or tell-tale sign that _this_ isn’t unrequited. 

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Kenma says as he stares up at the ceiling. He probably knows Kuroo is staring at him, probably knows the way Kuroo is looking at him is not at all platonic. Kenma probably knows everything. 

“You say that until you’re shivering and shaking from cold sweats and begging me to spoon-feed you chicken soup,” Kuroo chatises. He does something daring, reaches down to hold the edge of the towel that Kenma is laying on, and wipes the side of Kenma’s thigh that never fully dried. His movements are slow, but deliberate. He waits for Kenma to smack his hand away. After all, friends don’t lay in bed together and gently towel off each other’s bare legs. 

He often finds himself toeing the line between friends and something more with Kenma, but Kenma never says anything. Kuroo has the urge to keep going, to keep pushing that boundary to see where Kenma draws his own line, but he’s scared of the point of no return. That maybe one day, when he does cross that line, Kenma will never forgive him. He can’t sacrifice years of friendship for his own selfish and romantic desires, content with just these greedy moments every now and then that Kenma allows, _tolerates._

“First of all, I did not beg you to feed me. You were the one shoving the spoon down my throat,” Kenma’s voice is low, and it strains when Kuroo’s hand wipes at his inner thigh, right below his boxers. Kuroo hurriedly moves his hand so that he is drying Kenma’s knee instead. Some hopeful part of him thinks, maybe Kenma wants this too, just maybe. 

“Because you wouldn’t eat!” Kuroo pinches his calf. 

“The soup tasted bad.” Kenma makes a weak attempt of kicking Kuroo. 

“Hey!” Kuroo pinches Kenma again, this time even harder. “I tried my best, okay.” 

“Your best was barely edible,” Kenma huffs and rolls over. 

Kuroo takes it as a sign from Kenma to stop being a creep and to stop touching him, but Kenma turns around and looks at him, then down at the towel pointedly, waiting. Kenma brings his attention back to his PSP as Kuroo begins to wipe down the back of Kenma’s thighs, palms flat. He must be imagining the heat of skin, there’s no way he could feel Kenma through the towel, but his hands feel hot regardless. 

“Go make your own soup then.” 

“Soup is for the sick. I am strong and healthy.” 

Kuroo chuckles at that. Those aren’t exactly the first words that come to mind when he thinks of Kenma. He brushes a knuckle against the back of Kenma’s ankle to see if it’s dry and watches Kenma’s toes curl in response. 

“When was the last time you ate a vegetable?” Kuroo asks, half-serious. He pokes the arch of Kenma’s foot. It’s a pretty foot, and he knows he’s in deep when he imagines kissing Kenma’s achilles tendon. 

“When was the last time you minded your own business?” Kenma drawls, no longer interested in where the conversation is heading. 

“That’s it, no junk food while you’re here. I’m putting you on a high-fiber, high-protein, and high-whatever-vitamin-you’re-lacking diet.” 

Kuroo moves the towel so that it completely covers Kenma’s legs, the sight too tantalizing to be left exposed to his wandering eyes. for good measure, he throws his blanket over Kenma’s legs as well. 

“i’m going home,” Kenma says, not moving. 

“Grab an umbrella when you do,” Kuroo retorts, but he’s already moving to grab a smaller towel, a yellow fluffy thing that had also been claimed by Kenma years ago, neatly folded in the back of Kuroo’s wardrobe. 

“C’mere, you need to dry your hair or you’ll actually get sick.” 

Kenma makes a sound and Kuroo sighs because Kenma’s not going to put down his PSP, so now he’ll have to dry Kenma’s hair and not think about dragging his nails across Kenma’s scalp the entire time, how he’d react, if he’d allow it, if he’d like it. Kuroo’s brain runs through a million different outcomes as it does whenever his next action involves Kenma. 

He takes in a shallow breath, collects his thoughts, and tucks them away for later tonight when he wants to torture himself with more possibilities and what-ifs. He turns his attention back to the mop of bleached hair that is in dire need of drying. He wipes at Kenma’s neck and only gives himself two seconds to look at the exposed nape. It’s a rare sight and Kuroo feels like he’s sneaking a look at something forbidden. Kenma’s hair is always covering the back of his neck, and he rarely ties his hair up. Kuroo’s only been lucky enough to see it a grand total of four times his entire life. 

Drying Kenma’s hair is fast work, he’s not worried about the ends. Kenma had said to leave them alone or else it’d break and split.

“If you give me split ends, I will never forgive you.” 

“How’s your hair so soft after bleaching it anyway?” 

Kuroo asks once Kenma’s black roots are mostly dry. Back in high school when they were on the bus home after a practice match at another school, Kenma had always let him run his fingers through his hair as his head rested on Kuroo’s shoulder. It was always smooth and untangled. 

“Coconut oil,” Kenma responds and licks his lips before parting them. Kuroo waits for him to continue speaking, knows that Kenma is hesitant. “You can put it on my hair tonight,” Kenma says slowly and after another pause, “If you want.”

Is he offering on Kuroo’s behalf, to help him satiate his curiosity? Or does he know of Kuroo’s desire to just touch him in any way possible, even if it’s just applying coconut oil to his hair? The words echo in his head, _if you want_. Kuroo internally groans— is this something Kenma is yet again allowing? Tolerating? 

“Do you want me to?” Kuroo asks, unsure. It seems like an oddly intimate thing to do, being a part of Kenma’s established nightly routine. 

“Sure,” Kenma responds and of course it’s a noncommittal answer, not yes, not no, just sure. The most inconclusive response possible. 

Kuroo rolls up the towel and leaves it on Kenma’s neck so that it’s hanging down on either side of his chest. It’ll warm up his neck and catch the falling droplets of rain from his hair. 

“How come I’ve never seen you do it before?” Kuroo asks. It’s probably a recent development if he didn’t know. 

“I just started a month ago. I’m trying to grow my hair out a bit.” 

Kuroo lays down next to Kenma, hooks his chin over Kenma’s shoulder and wraps an arm around the other one. He watches Kenma’s character on the game console suffer a near fatal attack. “How long are you thinking?” 

“A bit above my shoulders, maybe? I don’t know, I'll trim it when my head feels too heavy.” Kenma turns his head side to side, weighing it. “Three more centimeters.” 

“Any particular reason why?” Kuroo likes Kenma’s hair length now— it’s just past his chin. 

“I like running my fingers through my hair. I think it’d feel better if it was a little longer.” 

Kuroo hums. That’s true, running his fingers through Kenma’s hair does feel pretty good, would probably feel even better if it was longer. 

“Wait, I don’t have coconut oil. Maybe vegetable oil, though,” Kuroo muses. His arm is burning where it’s brushed against Kenma’s collarbone, Kuroo’s shirt that he’s wearing too big on his lithe frame. Kuroo tugs at the shirt so that it does its job of covering Kenma properly, but it slips down just as easily. He tries again, but Kenma shifts this time and the shirt slips down ridiculously lower. He’s not looking anymore but if he had to guess, Kenma’s entire shoulder was probably bare. 

“I brought a jar with me,” Kenma responds. He tilts his head slowly, until his cheek is gently pressed against Kuroo’s hand, effectively stopping him in his fruitless battle with the shirt. 

Kuroo hopes Kenma packed a change of clothes too. He doesn’t know if he can handle seeing Kenma exclusively in his clothes for another day. 

“Wow you’re really prepared for our slumber party, huh?” Kuroo teases. “What else did you bring?” _Please say you brought clothes._

“Don’t call it that. This wasn’t planned,” Kenma rolls his eyes at the words, _slumber party._ “I have my toothbrush and underwear.” 

“That’s it?” Kuroo balks. He pulls his head back to stare at Kenma. 

There’s a slight smile tugging at his lips when he asks, “What else would I need?” 

“You didn’t bring clothes?” Kuroo says slowly, the reality of the situation now seeping in. 

Kenma sleeping in his clothes. Kenma waking up in his clothes. Kenma eating breakfast in his kitchen, wearing his clothes. Kenma stepping out the shower, skin all soft and warm, wearing _his_ clothes. 

“What’s wrong with wearing yours?” Kenma replies, sounding almost amused. If Kuroo didn’t know any better he’d think Kenma is _teasing_ him. Kenma side eyes Kuroo, looking amused. 

“They barely fit you,” Kuroo grits out. 

Kenma’s fingers are quick on the console’s buttons. He doesn’t look up. “So what?”

Kuroo wants to scream and shake the younger boy, demanding to know why he’s been subjected to such cruel and unusual punishment. He’s more than eager to change the conversation topic, trying to shoo away the persistent images of Kenma wearing his clothes, sprawled across his bed, cheeks flushed and— _okay, that’s enough_.

“Why haven’t you showered yet? You’re going to have to dry your hair all over again.” 

“I need to finish this level,” Kenma says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus, you’re going to be the one drying my hair, not me.” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “What am I, your hand maid?” 

“You like it, though,” Kenma mumbles. 

Kuroo sputters. So Kenma _knows._ “Just don’t want you to get sick,” he grumbles unconvincingly. 

“Because then you’d have to make soup, right? making soup is probably hard,” Kenma quips. 

Kuroo nods, glad to take the escape that’s been offered to him. “Indeed.” 

There’s a moment of silence between them, disturbed by only the pitter patter of the rain against the roof and clicking from Kenma’s thumbs on the PSP. 

“Can you tie my hair up for me?” Kenma asks. 

Kuroo’s heart rate picks up. What good deeds have he done in his past life to be blessed with the incoming view of Kenma’s neck? _Play it cool,_ he chastises himself. 

“Sure, you got a hair tie?” Kuroo asks, already moving back behind Kenma. 

Kenma passes him a hair tie that was previously hanging on his wrist, and Kuroo has to pretend like the brush of their fingers didn’t make his skin tingle. 

Kuroo begins by scooping up a handful of hair, tugging it securely behind Kenma’s ears. He twists it and wraps it, then ties it into a bun. “Ta-dah, now you’re pretty.”

Kenma slightly turns so that his profile is visible, loose strands of hair framing his face. Kenma’s always had angular features with his upturned nose, sharp chin, and high cheekbones, but at the moment, he looks incredibly soft with his hair tied up and his limbs swimming in a shirt three sizes too large. Kuroo wants to kiss him. 

“I'm not pretty,” Kenma grumbles. He’s not blushing, Kenma hardly ever blushes, but the tip of his ears are pink and that’s as good as it gets. 

Kuroo grins. “You’re pretty.” 

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

…

Kuroo leans in and catches a lock of hair that had fallen out from the bun. He tucks it behind Kenma’s ear and that should be it, but he finds his fingers trailing down the slope of Kenma’s neck. They’re close enough that he barely has to move to whisper in Kenma’s ear, “Are too.” 

He watches the once-pink tips turn bright red in a matter of seconds and gleefully wonders if Kenma’s cheeks are red to match. Before he has the chance to find out, Kenma whips his head back around and pours his attention back into the PSP. Kuroo can tell he’s not actually playing though just by looking over his shoulder; he’s just moving his character left and right aimlessly across the screen. 

“Are you shy, _kitten_?” The nickname easily rolls off his tongue despite the fact that he rarely uses it, only when he has a death wish. 

“Ugh,” Kenma groans. “I told you to never call me that.” He reaches behind with one hand to yank off the hair tie, unraveling the bun in the process. Kuroo watches in horror as his life’s greatest work is destroyed in mere seconds. 

Kenma _still_ hasn’t turned around though, so Kuroo deduces that he must be blushing. 

He might die today, but at least he’d have died trying. “ _Kitten_ ,” Kuroo coos, hand holding onto Kenma’s shoulder to spin him around for just _one_ good look. 

Before he can fully turn him around, Kenma loops the hair tie around his index finger on one hand and pulls it back between two fingers on his other hand so that the hair tie is launched across the room, bouncing off the wall before it hits Kuroo on the cheek. 

“What the fuck?” Kuroo exclaims, cradling his cheek with one palm where the hair tie had smacked him in the face. “How did you even make that shot?” 

“Serves you right,” Kenma huffs, _yet_ to turn around to look at him. 

“Dude, you hit me in the eye,” Kuroo whines, making pained sounds and whimpering every so often. “Fuck, it hurts.” He quickly moves his hand from his cheek to cup his right eye instead. 

Kuroo can almost hear the cogs turn in Kenma’s head as he debates whether or not to check up on his friend whom he may have potentially blinded. When Kenma moves to check his injury, Kuroo diverts his eyes to the bedsheets, making a show of clutching his very uninjured eye with two hands now as he winces. 

“Let me see,” Kenma’s fingers brush against his knuckles, nudging Kuroo to move his hands so that he can assess the damage. 

“Ahhh, it hurts so bad,” Kuroo fake grimaces, finally raking his eyes up to meet Kenma’s half concerned ones. 

There’s faint red dusting his cheeks and yeah, Kenma’s blushing, alright. Kuroo wants to take a mental picture and frame it behind his eyelids. The sight is not for the faint-hearted, however, and Kuroo finds himself shy too, his face beginning to warm. 

Kenma’s squinting, as if he doesn’t quite believe Kuroo yet, at least not until he sees it for himself. And for good reason too because Kuroo moves his hands to clutch Kenma’s hand in his and winks with the eye he faked the injury with. “Ha-ha, made you look.” 

A deadpan expression on Kenma’s face is the last thing he sees before Kenma pokes his eye out with a finger. “Ha-ha, now you can’t see,” Kenma retorts. 

Kuroo still has one of Kenma’s hands clutched in his grasp and he never wants to let go. He wants to pull Kenma into his chest and cry about how hard it is to keep secrets from his best friend, how lonely it’s been to fall in love by himself like a fool. So, he lets go instead. 

No more pining allowed. 

There’s no better time to move on than now, living with Kenma short-term so that he can be familiarized with the other’s (hopefully) disgusting living habits. It’ll be fun. One day, he’ll laugh to Kenma about how he had a tiny crush on him that quickly ended upon finding out Kenma pours his milk before his cereal. 

He’ll find something dumb to latch onto, something insignificant enough that he can tell himself this was nothing more than youthful infatuation, as intense as it may have been.

He starts off the mental checklist of why Kenma’s the most horrible roommate ever and thus should no longer be the object of his affections. 

  1. Kenma is a thief. He’s stolen Kuroo’s clothes and looks ridiculously better in them. It’s horrible. Kenma’s horrible. Bye-bye crush. 



Looking back, the list may have been his first step towards the point of no return. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kenma is getting impatient

They spend the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing productive, just like how Kuroo likes it. They lounge in the living room, limbs sprawled across the couch as they watch some sci-fi movie that just came out. His parents are away on a business trip and probably won’t be back for a week or two, so Kuroo lets himself cackle loudly whenever Kenma makes fun of the movie’s plot holes and cheesy script. 

Kuroo accidentally gets popcorn down Kenma’s shirt when a jump-scare has him flipping the popcorn bowl over, almost smacking Kenma in the face. He howls with laughter when Kenma throws popcorn in his face as revenge. 

“I’m buttery now. It’s disgusting and I hate you for it,” Kenma says with absolutely no malice in his voice. Kuroo has his head thrown back, mouth open so that Kenma can aim the popcorn into his mouth. They’re at eighteen for eighteen now. 

“Less talking, more aiming,” Kuroo says when Kenma almost misses and aims the popcorn at the corner of his mouth instead. 

Of course Kenma takes that as an invitation to purposely miss his mouth, hitting Kuroo in the forehead this time. Kuroo sits upright and the popcorn falls onto his shoulder. He crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. “We were almost twenty for twenty until you botched that one.” 

He could’ve sworn there was a mischievous glint in Kenma’s eyes before he leaned forward and licked the stray popcorn from where it was nestled in Kuroo’s collarbone. Kuroo’s brain short-circuits at the brief, but hot wetness on his skin. Kenma just _licked_ him. 

“Now you’re buttery too,” Kenma notes as he licks his lips and eats the popcorn that had been on Kuroo mere seconds before. 

“Buh,” Kuroo dumbly responds. 

“We’re still twenty for twenty.” Kenma smiles and leans back on his side of the couch, stretching out his legs so that his feet were resting in Kuroo’s lap. 

“R-Right,” Kuroo nervously laughs. He diverts his attention back to the TV, before his eyes are permanently glued to Kenma’s lips that had been only millimeters away from his bare skin. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s past midnight when Kuroo attempts to lug Kenma off the couch to go brush their teeth. Kenma throws his version of a tantrum which mainly involves him kicking Kuroo in the chest repeatedly until Kuroo throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

Kenma’s fists are hitting his back weakly as he complains, “We didn’t finish watching.”

“We’ve watched eight episodes already and it’s getting late.”

“I want to finish the entire season.” 

“You’re crazy.”

“You’re lame.” 

They reach the bathroom and it’s a tight fit but they make do. It’s routine at this point in their friendship to brush their teeth together whenever the other sleeps over. Kuroo usually makes a show of letting the foam drip down his chin just to disgust Kenma while Kenma shoves him so he can see himself better in the mirror. 

Kuroo’s phone rings before he can even squeeze toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He checks the caller ID and says, “It’s Bokuto. I’ll be just a sec, _wait_ for me, okay?” 

Kenma nods. “I’ll go grab my toothbrush.” 

They both step out of the bathroom. Kenma heads to his bedroom where his overnight bag is while Kuroo stays back in the hallway to pick up his phone. 

“What up, bro?” Kuroo greets Bokuto happily. It’s not uncommon for him to receive phone calls from the other late at night like this. They’re usually about how nice and pretty Akaashi is, but ever since the two started dating six months ago, well, actually, the phone calls are _still_ about how nice and pretty Akaashi is. 

“Why do you sound so happy?” Bokuto asks in a sing-song voice. 

Kuroo narrows his eyes. Bokuto doesn’t often taunt him, but when he does it’s usually insufferable. “What do you mean? How can you tell?” 

“Is Kenma there or something?” Bokuto snickers knowingly and explains, “You said ‘bro’ with more feeling.” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “No, I didn’t, _bro._ ” 

“See!” Bokuto exclaims. “There’s so much _feeling_ in your bro’s today.” 

Kuroo sighs. Once Bokuto latches onto an idea, he’ll never let it go. “Yes, Kenma’s here and you’re invading our bonding time.” 

Kuroo grins at Kenma as he passes by on his way back to the bathroom and gives Kuroo a weird look. 

“How may I be of assistance tonight?” Kuroo asks Bokuto, watching as Kenma set down a towel on the rack. 

“Akaashi told me Kenma’s sleeping over for a week, how’s that going for you? Made any moves yet?” 

Kuroo can already imagine Bokuto’s eyebrows waggling. Bokuto has been one of the few people Kuroo has willingly divulged the information on his crush to. The entire Nekoma team had already known somehow without Kuroo explicitly telling them, but Bokuto had been the only person on the receiving end of his late night woes regarding Kenma the past few years. 

“It’s going great,” Kuroo starts before frowning. “Wait, what do you mean he’s sleeping over for a week? He’s only here until his router is fixed. He’s probably going home tomorrow.” 

“Uh—,” There’s a sharp _Bokuto-san!_ before everything is muffled and Kuroo can only make out hushed whispers. 

“Hello?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow at the weird interruption. 

There’s a loud whine and exaggerated sniffling before Bokuto speaks up again, “Akaashi says I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore or else I’ll ruin—”

The line goes dead. 

Kuroo pockets his phone before joining Kenma in the bathroom. He goes to squeeze toothpaste onto his toothbrush and comments, “Just had the weirdest phone all with Bokuto ever.” He wets his toothbrush and catches Kenma’s eyes in the mirror. “Do you know anything about—”

“Hmm?” Kenma asks, staring back at Kuroo through the mirror as he takes off his shirt. 

“What are you doing,” Kuroo grits out, staring at Kenma’s almost naked body. 

Despite quitting volleyball after high school, his time on the Nekoma team had evidently strengthened him. His arms are muscular from years of setting, and cardio training has given him abs despite all the junk food he eats. 

It’s not anything Kuroo hasn’t seen before, but in the tightly enclosed space of his bathroom with Kenma wearing nothing but his boxers, he finds it incredibly difficult to look away. 

“I’m gonna shower,” Kenma responds before turning around to begin turning on the water. 

Kuroo is gifted with the view of his pale back and he observes the curve of Kenma’s waist, how it cinches in and doesn’t give any hints to the faint six pack that Kenma has in front. Kenma dips his hand under the stream of water every few seconds making sure he’s satisfied with the temperature. 

“Right _now_ ?” Kuroo asks, baffled. They’re close, but not _that_ close. 

He thinks of the time Bokuto called him crying about how he had to take a number two while Akaashi was taking a bubble bath merely two weeks into their relationship. They hadn’t even had sex at that point yet. That was a boundary in their relationship neither ever wanted to cross, but Akaashi likes to take _long_ baths and Bokuto couldn’t hold on any longer after forty minutes of immense pain. It was a whole train wreck of a phone call and it took Kuroo almost an hour to try to calm Bokuto down and to convince him that ‘ _Yes, Akaashi will still want to fuck even after you pooped in front of him,’_ just to have Bokuto wail, ‘ _Don’t say the p-word! I never want to hear it again!’_

Yeah, Kenma and Kuroo are close, but not _that_ close. 

Not that the idea of Kenma naked and wet behind nothing but a shower curtain while Kuroo brushes his teeth isn’t incredibly sexy or anything, but his supply of willpower is limited and he doesn’t think he can survive something like this. 

The shower curtains are _thin_ , so thin they might as well be translucent. 

“Uh,” Kuroo begins, not knowing whether he should leave or stay here and brush his teeth. Kenma is standing there without a care in the world so Kuroo shouldn’t be getting his panties in a twist. This is _nothing._

He brushes his teeth, switching between staring at his own horrified expression in the mirror and staring at Kenma’s backside. The fourth time he tears his gaze from his own reflection to sneakily look at Kenma who’s still waiting for the water to heat up, he notices the younger slipping his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling it down until his back dimples are revealed and _holy shit, Kenma’s taking off his boxers right behind him_ , Kuroo mentally shrieks to himself as he opts to stare down into the sink bowl. 

This is safe to look at. Just a porcelain sink with a crack on the left side. There’s a strand of blond hair stuck to the side and wow, Kenma actually sheds hair like a cat. 

He decides to add that to his list of grievances with Kenma. 

  * Sheds hair like a cat. There’s hair in the sink, hair on his bed, probably hair all over the floor. 



He tries to be annoyed but really, it’s just hair and Kenma’s pudding cup hair is actually the cutest thing in the world. It’s hard to try to be annoyed about something this trivial when Kuroo’s boxers make Kenma’s butt look so plush and bouncy. 

Kuroo will be safe from Kenma and his cute tush if he just focuses on the sink. 

Don’t you _dare_ look up, he threatens himself. 

He lets out the biggest sigh of relief when he hears the shower curtain open and close again, deeming it safe to look up because Kenma’s finally in the shower behind the curtain, so tell him _why_ he’s staring into Kenma’s eyes when he thought it was finally okay to look in the mirror again. His eyes bulges comically at the sheer force of trying to keep his gaze level with Kenma’s eyes and _not_ down at his ass. 

Kenma has one hand on the shower curtain as his peers over his own shoulder to look at Kuroo curiously. “Why isn’t the water turning hot?” 

“Oh, uh, it’s uh, the, the water, it uh,” Kuroo stumbles over the words as he struggles to maintain eye contact with a very naked Kenma. 

“What?” Kenma asks, shifting his weight onto his other foot and Kuroo’s eyes almost flick down to follow the movement before he remembers _no, no, danger zone, do not look down._

_Okay, deep breaths._

“The shower’s been janky lately, you kinda have to jiggle the knob and turn it while pushing in?” 

“Like this?” 

Kenma leans into the shower to follow Kuroo’s instructions, but Kuroo’s not even watching him because he’s a weak man and Kenma isn’t looking at him anymore so he’s staring right at Kenma’s butt instead and _fuck_ , it looks so soft and perky, like, how does it even sit up like that when all Kenma does is sit on his ass all day, just _how?_

Kenma turns around when Kuroo doesn’t answer and Kuroo probably looked up about half a second too late but he can die without any regrets now so all is well. 

“Yeah, like that,” Kuroo stammers, having no idea if Kenma actually did it right. 

His face feels hot and he wishes he could attribute it to the steam in the bathroom, but there’s no steam because the water is apparently cold which is why Kenma is standing naked outside the shower instead of standing naked _inside_ the shower away from Kuroo and his damn perverted eyes. 

Kenma sticks his hand into the water again and sighs, “It’s still ice cold, you do it.” 

Kuroo spits the toothpaste foam out of his mouth before he can choke and possibly die, but actually death would probably be easier than this. 

Okay, the sooner they get this done the sooner he can go back to pretending like he’s never seen Kenma naked. The image is most definitely _not_ already burned into the back of his eyelids. 

Kuroo rinses and gargles and turns around to face his death. 

“Can you, uh,” Kuroo begins to ask Kenma to move, but if Kenma steps aside, Kuroo is gonna be forced to look away from his dick, and _that_ is much more dangerous territory than his butt. 

It’s unfortunate that Kenma understands Kuroo without him having to finish his sentence because he’s already taking a step back as Kuroo widens his eyes in horror and immediately goes to grasp Kenma’s shoulders instead. He has both hands an iron grip on Kenma’s bare, warm skin as he nearly growls, “Just, stay there.”

He hopes Kenma can’t hear his thundering heartbeat over the rush of the streaming water as he leans over his slender body to fix the shower faucet. Time could not go by any slower, knowing Kenma’s naked body is touching his front from shoulder to foot because Kuroo is a fucking idiot and this tantalizing heat pressed up against him is infinitely worse than had he just had a peek of Kenma’s dick. 

He’s in the middle of berating himself and checking the water temperature when Kenma shuffles backwards and _yup, Kenma’s ass is pressing back on my dick now,_ as he mutters, “Kuro, you’re crowding me. I’m gonna fall into the tub like this.” 

As if to emphasize his point, he presses back _harder_ against Kuroo and Kuroo stumbles back and his back nearly hits the bathroom door because he needed to get away _immediately_. Kuroo knows his body well and Kuroo knows his dick was 0.4 seconds away from a raging boner and he would not be able to live with himself if Kenma had felt it. 

_God, he’d be so fucking disgusted_. 

Kuroo immediately turns his back to Kenma, taking deep breaths as he presses his forehead to the bathroom door. He hears the shower curtain open and close again, but doesn’t turn around until he can hear the irregular rhythm of the water, indicating that Kenma actually went in this time. 

He shouldn’t turn around, he _knows_ how thin the shower curtains are, but Kuroo can only hold on for so long so he lets himself take a quick glance. 

He can see Kenma’s silhouette like this, how he tips his head back as water flows down the curve of his neck. His hands are rubbing across his torso to massage in the warmth and wow, this might be worse than having Kenma naked in front of him because now, they’re separated by the flimsy piece of material disguising itself as a shower curtain and Kuroo can look at every line and curve of Kenma’s body without fear of getting caught. 

The thought causes his guilt to rise until it’s choking his airways and shame is heating his face. _Way to leer at your best friend while he’s showering._

Kenma calls out to him as he’s leaving the bathroom. “Kuro, get me a change of clothes.” 

“Say please,” Kuroo smiles to himself. 

Kenma is fiercely independent but it’s these little moments when he asks for favors that he lets himself be vulnerable enough to lean on someone else. 

“Get me a change of clothes,” Kenma repeats himself, either pretending like he hadn’t heard Kuroo or showing that he doesn’t care. 

“Say please.”

“Go.” 

Kuroo sighs and mostly says to himself, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Kuroo goes back to his room and contemplates how he should dress Kenma up. He should give him the smallest shirt he owns so that Kenma’s shoulders aren’t exposed. He’ll give him the baggiest boxers he has too. Hopefully, it’d hide any curves and is long enough to cover his thighs up until his knees. 

Luckily, he finds one of Kenma’s shirts far back inside his closet, probably forgotten from one of their previous sleepovers. He pairs it with blue plaid boxers that hang even a little loose on his own frame and then, for extra coverage, a pair of thick grey sweatpants. This way, Kenma will look like an absolute rectangle with no sexual appeal whatsoever. It’s great. 

He goes back to the bathroom to put the clothes on the towel rack with his eyes glued to the floor the entire time. He slips in and out without a single word lest Kenma replies and he’s forced to have a conversation while Kenma is lathering soap on his body. 

Back in his bed, he tries to call Bokuto back, but there’s no response. He switches over to watching videos on the internet, waiting for Kenma to come out of the shower. 

Nothing could have prepared him for Kenma walking in wearing nothing but those damned blue plaid boxers which are hanging dangerously low on his hips. “I packed my own underwear, you didn’t have to give me yours.” 

“Why are you wearing it then?” Kuroo asks, dying to know why Kenma is just strutting around with his hip bones on full display like this. 

“My towel is the size of a napkin. Was I supposed to walk in here buck naked?” Kenma asks as he rifles through Kuroo’s closet. 

“I gave you pants!” Kuroo exclaims exasperatedly. He doesn’t understand why he’s being tortured like this. It wasn’t like Kenma had an issue with being naked in front of him just twenty minutes ago or anything. 

“Don’t like them,” Kenma mutters, still going through Kuroo’s drawer of shirts. He picks one up just to shake his head disapprovingly at it before unfolding another one and holding it up. 

“I suppose you didn’t like the shirt I picked out for you either?” 

“Nope,” Kenma responds. He finally settles on an oversized t-shirt that Kuroo likes to wear on lazy Sundays. 

The realization sinks in that if it’s oversized on _Kuroo,_ it’s going to look ridiculous on Kenma. Like ridiculously hot. Kuroo sees a bleak future filled with shoulders and collarbones. 

“Kenma, it’s _your_ shirt.” 

“Exactly,” Kenma huffs in a tone that Kuroo doesn’t understand. 

Why is Kenma so against wearing his own clothes today? Or just clothes in general, actually? Kuroo’s seen more of Kenma’s body just in the past hour than he has collectively the past five years. 

Kenma puts on the shirt and it hangs down to his mid-thigh. It’s long enough that when Kenma slips off Kuroo’s boxers to wear his own underwear, Kuroo doesn’t accidentally get mooned. 

“Are you actually wearing underwear?” Kuroo has to ask to make sure because Kenma’s been pulling all sorts of weird stunts today and he can’t see any fabric on Kenma’s legs past his shirt. 

“Yeah.” Kenma pulls up the shirt to reveal tight, black boxer briefs. They might as well be booty shorts from how tightly they wrap around his thighs like a second skin. 

Kuroo is yet again, five seconds away from a mental breakdown. It’s probably his fault for even asking. He rolls over in bed until he’s facing the wall and tries to distract himself on his phone. He doesn’t look over even when he feels a dip in the bed next to him.

“There’s hair in your shower drain,” Kenma tells Kuroo after a few moments of silence. 

Kuroo’s texts to Bokuto asking about their previous phone call have gone unanswered, so he sends him more question marks. 

“No there isn’t.” Kuroo looks up from typing out his forty fifth question mark to respond to Kenma. He sees smooth, pale legs and he almost squints again to inspect them because _they look really smooth_ , but he realizes he’s being creepy so he looks into Kenma’s eyes instead. There’s a knowing glint there and Kuroo feels like Kenma somehow knows every dirty thought he’s ever had. “I showered before you and my hair’s too short to clog the drain.”

“My hair’s long enough.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow at him. “So you meant to say _your_ hair is in my shower drain.” 

“Sure.”

“Go clean it up.”

“No, if I stay here tomorrow I’m going to have to shower and then clean it again. Might as well clean it when I go home.” 

“What you really want is for me to clean it every night until you leave.” 

“Yeah.” 

“If you let it pile, I’m going to collect it before you can and make a wig for my little Kenma voodoo doll.” 

“You don’t have a voodoo doll of me.” Kenma’s eyes are narrowed, as if challenging Kuroo to prove him wrong. 

“Not yet.” Kuroo wags his finger back and forth. “But when I do, it’s gonna have a cute little wig to boot.” He makes a show of tapping his finger to his chin. “Should I give it pigtails or a braid?”

“Kuro, you’re so fucking weird,” Kenma groans before getting up to clean the shower drain. 

Kuroo actually leans forward across the bed to stare at Kenma’s leaving figure because there’s _something_ different about his legs, he just can’t pinpoint what yet. 

When Kenma comes back, he asks Kuroo to apply coconut oil to the ends of his hair. Kuroo meticulously combs it through Kenma’s hair before tying it up into a bun. He doesn’t even need to ask Kenma for a hair tie anymore at this point. Kenma had taken his entire stash of hair ties and bobby pins from his bag earlier in the day and sprinkled them all around the house as if to mark his territory. There’s so much lying around that Kuroo permanently has two on his wrist now, prepared for when Kenma asks him to tie his hair for him. There’s probably at least four wedged in between the couch cushions and two more on the bathroom counter. 

He adds that to the list and pretends like he isn’t giddy to see Kenma with his bangs clipped back. He also keeps bobby pins in his pockets in case the day comes where Kenma asks him to pin his hair for him. _Fuck_ , he’s actually so excited. Would it be weird if he were to sneak a picture?

Okay, no, this is a _bad_ thing. He’s supposed to be annoyed, be angry, be _moving on._

  * Leaves hair ties and bobby pins everywhere. It’s _super_ annoying! Very, very annoying. Absolutely irritating. 



Honestly, it feels awfully domestic to have a piece of Kenma everywhere around his house and his room. Kuroo hopes he gets to tie Kenma’s hair every night for as long as Kenma will let him. 

They send memes and videos to each other and laugh without actually talking to each other. Kenma lets out the occasional snort and Kuroo teases him for it, forgetting Kenma’s go-to response to being teased is either snapping back with a sharp reply or kicking him. Kenma chooses to go with kicking tonight and the constant flashes of pale skin is too much for Kuroo so he elects to stay quiet whenever Kenma snorts again. When Kuroo yawns for the third time that night, he decides it’s time to go to bed. 

“You wanna grab a futon or share the bed just like old times?” Kuroo grins. It’s an obvious joke, they haven’t shared a bed since they were in middle school. 

“I’m fine with the bed,” Kenma yawns and slips under the covers, before Kuroo can fully register what’s happening. 

“Are you sure?” Kuroo asks nervously. He’s supposed to be moving on. Kenma isn’t supposed to be indulging him in one of his wildest fantasies— to share a bed and wake up with him in his arms. “I can take the futon if you want. It’ll be no trouble, really. After all, you’re a guest and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. Of course you’d want to take the bed, it’s softer and warmer, but you probably don’t want to share right? Seriously, I can—“ 

Kenma effectively cuts off his rambles with a pointed glare, tugging at his wrist until Kuroo reluctantly climbs into bed next to him. 

“I’m gonna finish this game then go to sleep.” 

Kuroo hums in agreement. He turns over on his side and tries to sleep, before a stray thought freezes the blood in his veins. “Are you not going to wear pants to sleep?” 

Kenma snorts. “I haven’t worn pants since I got here. Why would I wear pants just to sleep?” 

“We’re sharing the bed, shouldn’t you be more considerate?” Kuroo makes a sound like he’s dying. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I was leaving stray pubes all over your bed. Are my balls hanging out too? My bad,” Kenma snarls sarcastically. “I’m wearing boxers, Kuro. What’s the big deal?” 

“It’s just,” Kuroo gestures wildly with his hands. “Since when do you sleep without pants? You’re always wearing pants! And socks! Socks over your pants too, god damn it!” He knows he sounds near-hysterical right now, but he can’t stop himself from losing his mind over the fact that Kenma is going to sleep sans-pants in _his_ bed. 

Kenma’s voice is so soft it almost surprises him, “I like the feeling of the bedsheets against my legs after I shave.” 

Kuroo feels his stomach drop at the same time all the blood rushes down south. “You _shaved_ your legs?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” 

That’s why his legs had looked so much smoother. 

_Oh._

Kuroo doesn’t know what to do with this information. He gulps once, then twice. His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s a perfect time to add to his list. 

  * Kenma sleeps without pants on. That’s weird. It’s weird, right? Kuroo can’t be with someone like that. It’s too weird. 



He’s almost tempted to add the thing about Kenma shaving his legs, but then that’d be like keeping a record of it somehow and Kuroo wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t know what to do with that information. He lets it float in his brain. 

Shaving is just a thing that some people do. 

Bokuto once made Kuroo shave him _everywhere_ from the neck down in preparation for his first time with Akaashi. Kuroo is proud to say he can shave a mean landing strip. 

Kuroo shaves his face, Bokuto shaves his ballsack, and Kenma shaves his legs. It’s normal, he tries telling himself. 

So why, just why is his dick throbbing at the mere _thought_? 

He has so many questions. Why did Kenma decide to shave tonight of all nights? When did he start shaving his legs? Has this always been a thing or is it a recent development? 

More importantly, Kenma brought a jar of coconut oil and even a razor, but neglected to bring his own clothes? Kuroo can’t even begin to fathom why without treading down that dreaded path that gives him too much hope. 

Is Kenma trying to _woo_ him? No, that’s _impossible._

Whatever, it was probably just more convenient to not pack extra clothes, not knowing how long he was going to stay anyway. It’s probably not because Kenma likes wearing his clothes or maybe he likes how they smell or he revels in the fact that it makes Kuroo go absolutely weak at the knees. Kenma doesn’t care about those things. 

Kenma doesn’t care about _him_ , not like that at least. 

Kuroo scoots closer to the edge bed, as far away from Kenma and his smooth legs as possible. The _things_ he’d do just to run his hands across Kenma’s thighs down to his lean calves. A man can dream. 

“Night, Kuro,” Kenma whispers as he turns off the bedside lamp. 

“Night.” Kuroo hopes his voice doesn’t sound too strained. 

He falls asleep after the tightness in his pants eases a bit and hopes to dream of all things Kenma-related. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Kuro,” he hears distantly, but he ignores it in favor of the delicious friction against his dick. He grinds down again, seeking out the pleasure that sends tingles straight down his spine. 

“Ngnnh, _fuck,”_ Kuroo moans, humping wildly as he teeters the line between sleep and consciousness. 

“Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,” a voice whines out until it breaks off into little gasps and moans. 

It’s Kenma’s voice and he deduces that this is the most hyper-realistic wet dream he’s ever going to get, so he might as well make the most of it. 

In a list-induced haze, Kuroo leans down and abides by kissing down Kenma’s neck, sucking hard when he reaches the junction where his neck connects to his shoulder. 

“Ah, Kuro, _please_ ,” Kenma begs, hands scrabbling to grip his shoulders as he thrusts his hips up in time with Kuroo. 

This is a terrific dream and Kuroo never wants to wake up from it. 

There’s a warmth pooling in his abdomen, he just needs a few more seconds and—

“Kuro, _stop_ , let me suck you off—“ 

Kuroo snaps awake in an instant when he hears the word, “ _stop,”_ and the rest of the sentence drowns out in his ears as he takes the situation in before him. 

He’s on top of Kenma, forearms on either side of his head as his own hips crush Kenma’s hips down into the mattress. Kenma’s lidded eyes are staring right into his, cheeks flushed and all. There are warm hands on his upper back, _under_ his shirt, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. 

Kuroo flies back until he’s sitting on his legs, hands coming up to cover his face in horror. “Shit, fuck, _shit,_ I’m _so_ sorry, I was having this weird dream and I thought, I guess my body was just, I—“ The words die in his throat when he realizes this is it. 

The line has been crossed, Kenma is probably disgusted with him. Kenma, who was scratching at his back to get him off and begging him to stop, is going to report him to the police and Kuroo is going to spend the rest of his life in jail reflecting upon this very night, on how badly he messed up and attacked his _best friend_ who was _asleep_. Kenma, who could barely fend for himself because he’s so small and Kuroo’s 6’2” and had him pinned him down, is going to be so hurt and confused on why he’s been friends with the biggest piece of trash on Earth and— 

“Hey, are you okay?” Kenma gently pulls one of his hands away from his face. Kuroo doesn’t even realize he’s hyperventilating until the harsh sounds of his breaths almost overpower Kenma’s soft voice. 

“I should be asking you that, _shit_. I just assaulted you.” 

“It’s fine,” Kenma starts, but Kuroo quickly interjects. 

“No, it’s not! In what world was any of that okay? I just forced myself on you and—”

Kenma lightly slaps him on his arm, not enough to hurt or anything, just enough to get his attention. “I said it’s _fine._ ” 

He turns to the side, avoiding eye contact with Kuroo, although it’s not like he can make out much in the dark, eyes yet to fully adjust. He thinks Kenma might be blushing, but that’s probably just from the overexertion of trying to fight Kuroo off. 

Kenma moves to pull up the sleeve of his shirt so that his shoulder isn’t bare anymore. When Kuroo sees the marks he’s left behind on Kenma’s neck and shoulders, he feels bile rising in his throat. 

“I was having a weird dream too,” Kenma mumbles. “I guess I got caught up in it too and,” he trails off as he plays with his own fingers, a nervous habit. 

“Oh.” Now Kuroo feels like he can’t breathe for an entirely different reason. So it _wasn’t_ dream Kenma that begged him for kisses?

He doesn’t realize he’s voiced that last part out loud until Kenma whips his head up to stare at Kuroo. “How much did you hear?” 

“I don’t know, a lot of the dream just blurred in with what was actually happening. I just heard my name here and there,” Kuroo replies half-heartedly. 

His heart roars at the distant memory. _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

“I said I was having a weird dream,” Kenma grumbles and goes back to tugging at his own fingers, not denying it. 

Kuroo _knows_ him, knows his quirks and habits, and can read him like an open book. Every fiber in his body is screaming at him that Kenma’s lying, Kenma was just as into it as he was. 

Kenma, who can sleep through fire alarms but rouses as soon as someone so much as pokes him, had most _definitely_ been wide awake when Kuroo grinded down on him, weird dreams be damned. Kenma had not only tolerated it, but _enjoyed_ it, had rolled his hips under Kuroo frantically. 

Kenma, who is most definitely small but definitely able to fend for himself, had taken down someone twice his size before. The boy in front of him had tackled a grown ass man in the middle of a Tokyo train station who’d attempt to steal his bag, which contained his precious PSP and Pokémon trading cards. (Tora has the whole fiasco on video and Kuroo rewatches it every time he misses Kenma.) 

Yet, for all that he is capable of, Kenma hadn’t kicked him in the nuts or socked him in the face. Kenma had begged to be kissed and had moaned every time Kuroo’s lips brushed his neck. 

He feels like the truth is staring at him right in his face. Kenma likes him or is at the very least, sexually interested in him.

Kuroo shakes his head, clearing it of these foolish thoughts, brushes it off as even more foolish hope. It’d be too convenient for Kenma to feel the same way he does, too unrealistic. It’s obvious Kuroo is framing things how he wants to see them. 

The truth is Kenma doesn’t _want_ him or _need_ him; Kenma simply allows Kuroo to coexist with him, merely tolerating his presence. 

For someone that’s so often branded quick-witted and analytical, Kuroo has no instincts to rely on when it comes to Kenma. There’s too much on the table, too much bias clouding his own judgment that he doesn’t know what he can and can’t believe. 

They’ve been sitting in silence for five minutes. 

Kuroo gets up to fetch a futon. Kenma certainly wouldn’t want to share the bed anymore after that. And to think, this was just the _first_ night of the sleepover. 

“Where are you going?” Kenma asks once Kuroo’s hand is on the doorknob. 

“Getting a futon?” Kuroo responds inquisitively like it’s obvious. Surely Kenma would be uncomfortable with sleeping with him after they just humped the living daylights out of each other until Kuroo almost creamed his pants like a hormonal teenager. 

“Stay,” Kenma tells him and that’s all Kuroo needs to come back to bed. 

Kuroo is committed to staying to his edge of the bed, _for sure_ , this time. No more dirty thoughts before bed either or else he’d be fueled by lust again in a haze of sleep. No thinking about Kenma’s still very bare legs. Or about his neck now littered with splotches of reds and purples that Kuroo left there. Or about Kenma’s dick that had been _very_ hard, rubbing against his own erection until there was a patch of wetness on his boxers 

Head empty, no thoughts, Kuroo repeated futilely to himself like a mantra. 

He somehow manages to fall asleep while sporting a semi, again. 

  
  
  
  
  


Kuroo wakes up, eyes wide open and feeling like someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water down his shirt. 

Fuck instincts and fuck following your guts. None of those matter when Kenma is involved. Anything involving Kenma screws with his thinking and with his analytical skills. He can read into every word and change of body language all he wants, but he can never trust his interpretation of it. 

What he _can_ trust though, is his senses. Kuroo trusts his senses, all five of them. 

He had seen Kenma flushed prettily, lips swollen from biting back his moans. He had felt Kenma’s swollen and hard dick pressed against his hip. He had tasted the tang of sweat on Kenma’s neck. He had smelled his green apple scented shampoo in Kenma’s hair. 

Kuroo had heard Kenma, loud and clear, panting right next to his ear, _“Kuro, stop, let me suck you off—“_

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i want to make it clear that the whole jiggy was CONSENSUAL— kuroo was awake from the very beginning (even if he thought it was a dream) and kenma was totally dtf. how i imagined it happening was kuroo is a stomach sleeper so he rolled over in his sleep (onto kenma) they both got hard VERY quickly bc let’s be real the whole day was filled w sexual tension and next thing ya know they just going at it. so yes kuroo was able to recall the whole thing w exact detail bc he was wide awake (lmfao he’s so stupid) and stopped as soon as he thought kenma wasn’t down w it. 
> 
> also idk what happened kenma got sO out of hand w the teasing plSssSs
> 
> once again ! i am marking it as completed bc i have no outline for this fic and inspiration is a bitch so i don’t want to promise more chapters when it’s very possible i’ll never pick it up again but WOW this is an even worse place to leave it off than the previous chapter HAHAHAHA

**Author's Note:**

> @kagayamama on twt hehe


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